


Seal of Approval

by UnderTheFridge



Category: The Rock (1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Military, Pre-Canon, Selkies, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheFridge/pseuds/UnderTheFridge
Summary: The premise: local Navy SEAL is, in fact, an actual seal (but only sometimes)That's it, that's the fic.
Kudos: 1





	Seal of Approval

“Ok, here he comes.”

They’re well-concealed: the trainees are learning fast, but there’s some tricks yet to be taught. The two are assured in their invisibility to anyone on the beach. The day is overcast but the sea is calm, and visibility is good. Waves break softly with delicate borders of froth.

“They think he’s got his gear stashed down there.”

“I still think he pulled a fast one,” the dive instructor says. “They said he went behind there, they didn’t see him come out  _ or  _ enter the water… and then his ass reappears back at base an hour later,  _ dry _ and  _ dressed. _ ” He snorts. “If you said he sneaked out and ran back down the road, I’d even believe you - but open swimming that distance, in that time? Fucking impossible.”

“I’m inclined to think the same,” his colleague agrees. They watch, and wait.

The young man on the shore - intelligent and capable, well-skilled in the water, quiet and reserved and not otherwise noteworthy - strips off the shorts that are his only clothing. The cool weather, turning to autumn, doesn’t bother him.

“And now he gets naked? Fucking hell, we’re gonna have to watch him if he’s got that kind of death wish.”

He looks up and down the coast, deserted save for a couple of wandering gulls, and sits down at the very edge of the water. Sea-foam laps around his feet. From a crevice he retrieves what looks like a thick silver-grey blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, around his body, seeming to merge into it completely. One section drapes loose behind his neck, a kind of hood - and he pulls it up and over his head and they’re looking at a large male leopard seal, which sniffs the air briefly before launching off its rocky perch and vanishing into the depths.

The gentle murmur of the ocean is all there is to be heard, for a moment.

“Fuck me,” one of the instructors says. “Did you fucking see that as well?”

“What do we do..?”

“We find whoever’s been spiking the chow in the mess with LSD,” but he doesn’t sound like he means it.

They watch the shore for a while longer, then drive back to base, and find him playing soccer with his classmates. They don’t talk about it again.

\--

He tells his mother that he wants to go and be a sailor, since he’s big now, and she nods as if she’s been expecting it for years, like the questions about why the sky is blue or where babies come from.

“You can’t do that yet.”

“I like being in the sea,” he insists - not on it; he’ll tolerate a boat but prefers to plunge in - and she goes to the child-sized wardrobe he and his brother share and lifts out a large shoebox.

“You know what this is?”

“It’s my baby blanket,” with a touch of contempt, because at ten years old he thinks himself well rid of such infantile possessions. It was silvery-white when he was born, dense and fuzzy to the touch, but it’s rapidly turning deeper grey, with a dark-shaded centre. “I guess it’s pretty old now.”

“It’s your skin, honey.”

“I’ve got skin, Mom.” He holds out his hands to demonstrate - the nails grow rapidly and have to be cut often, and she’s thankful at least that the fingers aren’t  _ webbed _ , because little boys get enough stick from their peers as it is.

“This is your  _ other  _ skin. Your daddy - your real daddy - gave it to you, and if you want to go in the sea, you can wear it. It’s like a swimsuit, a special swimsuit. And just for you.”

He takes it and puts it on in the blink of an eye and there’s a small seal wriggling on the carpet and she tries to scoop it up out of instinct, puffing at the impossible weight.

It turns back into a child in her arms. “Mom!” His eyes are wide, but not fearful. Like he’s discovered some amazing new toy.

He becomes a seal twice over, in that respect, and she’s proud of him for both.

\--

“With respect, Admiral - I knew he was one of the Navy’s best men. But I didn’t know he was… whatever this is. A  _ shapeshifter _ .”

The Admiral smooths his moustache, his brows creasing in an amusement only heightened by the other man’s perplexity.

“A selkie, Al: that’s what the British call it. A creature from the legends of the Inuit and the peoples of northern Europe, a seal able to assume a human form by shedding its skin. I believe he gets it from his father.”

“His father is a QA manager at an automobile plant….”

“His  _ biological _ father. A Scottish sailor from a merchant ship.”

“Has he ever… been like this in an official capacity?”

“Yes. I can’t give you details; these missions are highly classified. But suffice to say he’s done reconnaissance whilst blending in with the wildlife. Unfortunately, the amount of equipment he can bring is, uh, minimal.”

“You don’t say?” They’re all staring at the screen.

“He’s limited to what he can carry in his mouth. And, needless to say, comms are useless. We just have to track him and wait until he comes back. And gets dressed.”

\--

His father walked up onto the beach and into his mother’s life, and their romance was a whirlwind one, and all she stole was his heart. Her grandmother was of their folk as well, before their family moved across the Atlantic, and so she understood why she shouldn’t hide the skin. She went back to her very human husband, and bore a bastard child, and that’s where it becomes less of a fairytale and more of an episode of Jerry Springer. He doesn’t mind. There are quite a few of them in various naval roles, all drawn inexorably to the sea, and he can spot them instantly.

“Everyone here’s a good swimmer,” says the young man he’s picked for his team; a fresh graduate from training, who showed a lot of potential. “I’m hardly special, sir.”

“I think you are. How about you come down to the beach with me tomorrow?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Bring the outfit you’ve got in the bottom of your locker,” and Shepard tenses on the edge of asking a question - because his CO somehow knows about the pelt hidden away underneath all his possessions, and for a moment in the dim light of the cabin it looks like the Commander’s teeth are far too sharp and his eyes a liquid black. “I’ll bring mine.”

Of course Shep is nervous about changing: exposed, with nothing on his human skin and his other form so bulky and slow on land. But Anderson goes first, diving into the water in the morning sun, and by the time he surfaces he’s accompanied by a chubby harbour seal, mottled black and white and - if a seal could be said to do so - grinning happily at him.

\--

The premise of the exercise is simple, and shouldn’t give the recruits - four small boats’ worth of young, healthy men - any problem at all. As their instructor finishes his briefing, they’re poised and waiting for the signal to row to shore, rocking gently in a merciful sea.

There’s a  _ thump _ from below and one of the vessels jolts.

“What’s wrong?” the instructor asks the boat leader.

“Something just hit us, sir.”

“Are you sinking?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why is it a problem?” Which isn’t a question, just a reminder for them to shut up and focus - the ocean is naturally full of distractions - and they do, until it happens again.

“The fuck?” one of them says, and another adds “Is it a whale?”

It’s attracted the attention of the other boat crews, and the instructor folds his arms and tells them to stop fucking around. They’re too concerned with the mystery creature to notice the smile on his face. Another impact rocks the boat, harder this time. They grab onto whatever they can.

“Holy shit,” the boat leader says, and peers over; the others stand or half-stand to follow suit, and completely fail to see the shape zooming in from the opposite side.

It hits the boat with an almighty BANG and they’re tossed skywards like stir-frying food. 

A few manage to land back in the safety of their craft but the rest hit the water instead. The instructor just watches. The other trainees laugh at them and then exclaim as a couple of their boats get bumped as well. The men knocked overboard go to clamber back in, reaching for hands that reach for them, smiling despite their impromptu dip - and then one of them is gone. Snatched in the blink of an eye.

They shout in surprise. His head appears back above the water and his training is overwritten by panic.

“It’s got me!” he shrieks, “Something’s GOT my fucking LE-” and disappears again. 

Pandemonium breaks out. The swimmers all clamour to get back to the boat, hauled in by any and all body parts by their frantic comrades, flailing in terror, the other crews in chaos scanning for the monster below, wielding paddles like swords as if that might help.

The kidnapped man pops up again and gasps for breath and clamps his hands on the side of the boat, knuckles as white as his face, repeating “oh god, oh god, oh god” in a litany of fear. “Get me out!” he snaps at the others, “Get me out!” and they somehow coordinate themselves enough to do it, pulling him into a heap of bodies in the boat just as a huge dark shape slides past.

They sit together, unharmed and panting. From the top of the food chain to the bottom in a matter of moments. A sleek grey head pokes out of the water, far too close for comfort, and snorts through a nose like an enormous hound.

“It’s a shark!” someone cries. “It’s a fucking shark!”

“Sharks don’t have necks!”

“Sharks don’t breathe!”

“That’s a fucked-up dolphin.”

“Look at its TEETH!”

Aside from all the screaming, they’ve actually done quite well, but “I’m disappointed in you,” the instructor declares. “It’s like none of you have ever seen a seal before….”

\--

“We got a live one!” someone calls, and Baxter looks round because he thinks they’ve spotted the same thing, but they haven’t. It’s another of the unfortunate tactical squad, fading before their eyes. The floor is strewn with them. The General makes sure they’re arranged into a row, given some dignity in death, before the Marines retreat to their posts. Waiting for the Pentagon’s next move.

Anderson was still breathing. Tom can’t believe the others haven’t noticed, but he can see it’s a fragile state. He makes noises about taking a break, leaves the command centre, and goes back down to the shower room.

It’s a risk to move him. Wounded at least twice, in the chest and abdomen, he’s slowly but surely dying. His skin is cool and damp, going into shock, as Tom hauls him up and carries him outside - out of the prison, down past the ruins of the old fortress, to the water’s edge with the floodlights glaring far above their heads.

He doesn’t even know if this will work. Frye and his men looted all the useful gear, pulling it from the corpses almost as soon as the General left. In Anderson’s pack, discarded by the others, there’s a large greyish cloth that looked like some kind of survival blanket - and it just might be, because Tom’s a big fan of folklore, and he has an idea.

The wetsuit comes off slick with blood inside as well as outside. It feels disrespectful to strip him like this, but Tom finishes the job with grim determination and wraps him in the pelt instead. His breath has become a rattle. His pulse flutters weak. His arms and legs seem to disappear, merging into a seamless silvery mass, although that’s probably just an illusion of the dark night and Tom’s own fatigue. He lies almost submerged with the rising tide; it will buoy him up as it reaches its peak and carry him away into the bay, for better or worse.

Tom pulls the hood of the seal-skin over his head and leaves him there, not daring to look back.

In the morning light, he peers out into the water and sees a bobbing shape. Too mobile to be a beacon, too small to be a vessel, appearing some distance from the island. He grabs the binoculars, his hands trembling ever so slightly. It’s a seal, not native to these waters, and he could swear that it’s scowling at him.

(He makes a mental note to never swim in the open ocean again.)


End file.
